


Every Bitter Drop

by cloverfield



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Extremely Enthusiastic Oral Sex, Fai is A-OK With This, Fai is Bossy, Husbands, Kurogane Is In His Happy Place, Kurogane Loves Giving Oral, M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Post-Series, So very NSFW, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:18:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4869833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Kuro-sama can have his wicked way with me now, since that’s clearly what he wants.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Bitter Drop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PokeChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PokeChan/gifts).



> Written for pokethetriforce's prompt: "Kurogane being very invested in taking Fai apart with his mouth. If you could I want him to just really enjoy giving Fai blowjobs but like that bit's super optional. (Oral fixation headcanon? What oral fixation headcanon?)"
> 
> This is shamelessly sloppy post-series husband sex and so very, very NSFW. Don't read this anywhere your parents can see, oh my god.

Fai’s fingertips are cold against his lips, textured with well-worn scars, and when Kurogane catches the corner of Fai’s thumb and takes it tenderly between his teeth, his lover hisses out a slow, soft breath.

“Kuro-sama,” he murmurs, and his eyes are bright and hot even in their mingling shadows, cast heavy across the walls by the dying evening light. Water drips from his fringe, fat drops of melting snow that hit the length of his nose and bead in scattered droplets on skin that glows pale in the dark of the room when Fai’s head bows low, his fingertips trembling on Kurogane’s mouth. He tastes cold, clean, and faintly like ozone: the tension that comes before the storm, which darkens the clouds and sets the sky to crackling.

“It’s too cold for you to look at me like that,” he says, half-breathless, and shivers. More water comes down, from the snow dusted into his hair and across the shoulders of his robe, and Kurogane tilts his head into the curve of Fai’s palm, nips gently at the space between finger and thumb, flicks his tongue lightly against chilled skin to catch the snowmelt there. Fai’s breath quickens.

“Kuro-sama,” he says again, and this time his voice is thicker, grittier, lilting sing-song smoothness wearing away beneath the weight of desire and leaving only roughness in its wake. “We should start a fire going in the hearth- we’ll never warm up if we don’t.”

Fai’s breath is like fog in the tiny confines of their one-room shelter, barely a cottage built from rough-hewn wood, and the chill of winter is setting in. Progress for the rebuilding of Suwa manor is being made day by day, but it will be months before completion and they still need a place to sleep in the meantime; while it’s not the smallest or the meanest room they’ve ever shared over the years -and it isn’t; they’ve slept in caves and palaces, in huts and shacks and tents and inns, mansions and hostels, beneath the open sky and alien stars, sheltered beneath trees taller than houses, in the brig of a ship ankle-deep in bilgewater and so high in a mountain temple they breathed in clouds-  it is, in spite of its roughness, wholly theirs, from hearth to hall, built by their own hands and no small amount of magic. Theirs, too, is the soft and thickly padded futon by the wall.

“Take this off,” says Kurogane, and palms the soaked cloth stretched taut over Fai’s belly, and hard, flat muscle jumps beneath his touch, Fai’s ribs heaving as he gulps in a breath. “I want you naked.” His words vibrate against his lover’s skin in a rush of hot breath; a shudder takes Fai over, his eyes fluttering almost-shut, a slice of burning blue beneath the fringe of pale eyelashes. He sways forward half a step, and his lips part softly.

“A _fire_ ,” Fai insists, weakening by the moment, but he only sighs when Kurogane traces his lips down to the pulse that thuds beneath the fine bones of his wrist, licks delicately as though to taste the echo of his heartbeat. “ _Ah_. You’re… very distracting.” The length of Fai’s sleeve slides slowly down to his elbow, fabric heavy with water, exposing the fine bones of his wrist, the lean definition of his forearm. The pulse-point in his elbow flutters beneath Kurogane’s thumb when he slides his hand up and under the water-heavy drag of Fai’s kimono.

“You won’t dry in wet clothes, fire or no fire. Take it off.”

“Mm, such a _charmer_ you are,” mutters Fai, and his fingers curl greedily against Kurogane’s face when Kurogane scrapes his teeth against cool skin. “ _Hah_. Is it any wonder I couldn’t resist your seduction?” He shudders again, lifting his other hand; a white-hot spark jumps from his fingertips when he clicks them together, and a sudden soft _whoosh_ of fire catching on waiting tinder casts orange shadows over the walls and dances gold specks in the depths of blue eyes. “There. A fire. Now we won’t freeze to death.” In the firelight, his eyes are not just blue: violet and gold and burning molten umber flicker like sparks, rising with the heat of his gaze. “Kuro-sama can have his wicked way with me now, since that’s clearly what he wants.”

It’s an invitation and a demand, all at once, and their hands both fall quickly to the ties of his hakama, dark fabric sliding down Fai’s legs in a sodden rush as it comes undone, his thighs pale and white between the cool green cloth of his kimono. Snow scatters from his hair in melting droplets, and when Kurogane pulls him close, his mouth is as hot as his hands are cold and so much wetter than his skin.

“You too,” Fai whisper-sighs, after several long moments, and Kurogane’s clothes loosen with a rasp of wet fabric as Fai’s clever fingers work to untie knots with the skill born from several months of practice and peel his kimono from his chest in heavy, wet folds. “We need to get warm.” Beneath the slack waistband of his hakama, Kurogane feels cold fingers gliding down, tracing the blades of his hipbones with rough and seeking fingertips. “I trust you can think of how?”

The first snow of the season and they were caught unaware, but the dark clouds overhead and the heavy drifts building outside the door are reason enough to retire for the night. The way Fai gasps as Kurogane steps out of his crumpled hakama and takes him by the elbows, hauling him in close, is even more so. He shrugs out of his kimono as Kurogane leads him back towards the futon, and the firelight flickers hot over wet, pale skin, bright tongues of colour splashing across his belly, his thighs, the blue-violet glow of his eyes. “Let me see you,” says Fai huskily.

Later, Kurogane will gather up their wet, heavy clothes and hang them on wooden racks by the fire, steam seeping from their weaves as water hisses and sputters from dripping sleeves and dragging folds, but for now he has no patience: the last layers between them are cast aside without care for the puddles on wooden floorboards or the wrinkles creasing into soaked cotton. Bare skin touches bare skin, heat rising between them to chase back the cold of the room, and Kurogane’s hands map the span of Fai’s shoulders, the blades of his hips, the crease where buttock meets thigh as he lifts Fai into his arms easily and sinks them both down onto the futon.

“Kuro-sama,” says Fai, mouth falling open and head tipping back as Kurogane holds him up by his hands alone, his fingers splayed dark and wide over the breadth of that narrow waist; he shudders deliciously in Kurogane’s grip, long legs splaying wide and toes curling helplessly in the sheets crumpled below them when Kurogane surges forward to kiss his throat, his breast, the rolling flat of his belly. His skin warms beneath Kurogane’s touch, the heat of his breath and the press of his lips chasing shivers where he laps at the droplets of water that trickle down his chest and belly, dripping from wet, tangled hair. “Mmm, _oh_ ,” and Fai groans at the scrape of blunt fingernails down the flat of his thighs, knees buckling to dump him in Kurogane’s lap in a tangle of clinging limbs.

Kurogane presses his mouth hot to the crook of Fai’s neck, teeth catching at the pulse that throbs beneath his tongue, and when one of Fai’s hands twists in his hair, the other drags down his back with greedy strength, the prick of just-barely-sharp nails setting old scars to stinging with welcome heat. “Don’t you dare stop,” moans the man in his arms, and that’s invitation enough for Kurogane to tip them forward and lay Fai down beneath him. Long legs wrap around his hips immediately, and Fai hums in approval as Kurogane takes his time easing downward, chasing the flush that spills down from Fai’s throat to his chest with slow, sucking kisses. His nipples peak beneath the stroke of Kurogane’s tongue, drawing taut at the careful press of teeth, and Fai drags his fingernails back against Kurogane’s shoulders with enough force he sees stars.

The heat trapped between them pricks sweat where their skin slides together, and the cold crisp scent of snow melts away beneath the taste of salt and musk, the warmth of their bodies rising with the wanting in their blood, and when Kurogane curls his fingers around the arc of Fai’s knee to ease it up and over his shoulder, his lover arches back with a soft sigh. “That’s good,” he mumbles, body opening beneath the press of Kurogane’s hands, hips rolling eagerly at the press of lips against the inside of his thighs and legs splaying wide. “Yes, _there_ ,” Fai grunts, thighs quivering, tremors racing through taut muscle when Kurogane trails his tongue down from knee to groin, licks salt from skin damp with sweat and the first slick of sex. Firelight glistens on the wet marks of his mouth, trailing damp and hot down towards the crease of thigh and hip, and as Kurogane sinks his teeth into soft skin that rarely sees sunlight, both of Fai’s hands fall to his hair and claw against his scalp.

“Your _mouth_ ,” groans Fai, and Kurogane shudders at the want that rolls in his belly at that demand, an ache that spikes deep and sharp. “I want your mouth.” It’s not something his lover ever needs to ask twice for, not something he ever needs to _ask_ for at all: something Kurogane wants to give every chance he gets.

“ _Yes_ ,” and it’s a hiss, a slur, a greedy wanting sound he pants hot into the blade of Fai’s hip, and his hands rise up to hold Fai’s legs open, fingers hooked under the crook of his knees; they tremble in his grip as he bites a dozen kisses into the spread of pale thighs, dragging blood to the surface in tiny bruises. Kurogane’s fingers are dark and clawing against the slick skin he drags his lips over, and he sucks red marks everywhere he can, watching them bloom in the flickering orange glow that chases warmth over them both. His eyes close as he nuzzles closer, Fai huffing out a breathless laugh above him, and Kurogane grins into the heat of his lover’s loins at the hard, hot press that drags slick against his cheek. He chases it with his lips, turns into the motion; slides his mouth over hot skin that pulses wet beneath his touch, and the flush of wet sex across his tongue is bitterly salty and utterly delicious. Kurogane wants more.

He takes it, with no warning; just the sudden pressing fullness that glides hot across his tongue and slips into his mouth as he pushes down, and the strangled cry of the man whose hips buck urgently into his mouth rings desperate in his ears. The rumbling groan that hums through his throat must be torture, with the frantic noises coming from his lover, but Kurogane does not care; curls his hands around Fai’s hips and forces them down against the futon, using his weight and strength to pin Fai beneath him, and his breath huffs greedily through his nose as he pulls Fai deeper, _deeper_ , until he can take him no further.

Kurogane could do this for hours. Kurogane could do this for _centuries_ , for as long as Fai will let him; for as long as it takes to break him into gasping, shuddering, breathless pieces that spill hot salt across his tongue. Or his face, or his chest; it’s just as good as long as it drips slick and wet in glistening pearly splatters that he can run his fingers through and lick them clean.

“ _You love this_ ,” groans Fai. His voice is thick, and his hands are shaking in Kurogane’s hair. “Ohh-! You have t-to, you have to. _Mm_. Move. Please, if you ever loved me- _move!_ ”

Kurogane loves this man, and that’s not in question- but he’s not particularly inclined to listen, either; not with how he presses his arm flat across Fai’s belly like an iron bar. Almost literally, in this case, considering his iron bones. He hums instead, a rolling sound he drags up from his throat and presses through his tongue from tip to base, a sensation that is particularly devastating when you’re on the receiving end of it: Fai sobs out a curse, and his left hand pricks with sudden sharpness, fingernails bleeding into claws and scraping through Kurogane’s hair in stinging lines of fresh-scraped fire. It’s so good Kurogane _shudders_ , hips pressing into the cool futon for some small relief of the ache that lights him up from gut to groin.

“Kuro-sama,” and Fai’s not sobbing anymore, his voice dark and throaty and edged with threat. “Move. Move, or _I will make you move_.”

It’s tempting, but that’s not what Kurogane wants tonight; not the strength of those elegant fingers curling around his face, scarred fingertips branding and deliciously rough against his skin as he lets Fai take him as he would, lets himself be used for the sake of this man’s pleasure and his own, until Fai’s gasping satisfaction pours down his throat in hot pulses. No, Kurogane wants to keep control in his hands, to hold it on his tongue and beneath his lips and take it from Fai with each dragging, sucking stroke, to make him gasp and moan and _wail_ until the snow shakes loose from the beams of the roof above them. Kurogane wants to take and take and _take_ until Fai has no choice but to yield, because tomorrow is another day entirely, and if he’s going to suffer at those clever hands –and he will; Fai’s revenge is slow but it is potent, and when it comes Kurogane is helpless– then he wants everything he can get tonight.

He pulls back, slowly, hollows his cheeks in covetous suction and lets Fai writhe for every inch that slips free between his lips and drags across his tongue; and when he can speak again, when Fai is a harshly breathing mess pinned down beneath him, Kurogane looks up the length of his lover’s long, pale body –gleaming with sweat and fire-flickering shadows and the blooming bruises of Kurogane’s own mouth– and lets the heat he feels fill his gaze to burning.

“ _No_ ,” says Kurogane roughly, and swallows Fai down without a breath of warning.

Fai _howls_ , hips jolting into the wet embrace of Kurogane’s mouth- but he is ready for it, and he pushes down with all the force he can bring to bear at hip and belly, forcing the twisting man beneath him flat against the futon even as he thrusts. His lover doesn’t go easy, babbling throaty nonsense in a polyglottal jumble of Ceresian and Valerian and half-slurred Nihongo, all thick vowels and melting consonants, and the few words Kurogane knows are his name and Fai’s wrath, pouring desperate from his shaking mouth as Kurogane sucks him off in greedy gulps. Fai tastes like salt and heat and bitter slick, liquid sex that floods through his teeth and he swallows it down headily; it’s good, _it’s so good_ and he has never wanted sweetness, his palate not the kind for sugar or syrup, and every acrid drop delicious.

His eyes close and his blood thunders, pulsing heavy in his hands, his head; Kurogane can’t stop himself from moaning at the hard push that crests his tongue and loosens his tight hold just a little, just enough for them both to find a rhythm, a surging back-and-forth that throbs across his tongue and makes the heat that coils in his belly tighten, tighten. Fai’s hands twist in his hair, slip around the back of his neck, fingertips stroking the top of his spine, and Kurogane feels the flex that rolls down from Fai’s core as he drags himself upright as best he can, legs trembling and his knees weak as he bends himself double, his body pressing hot and close as he curls over Kurogane in his lap.

“Ah-! _Ah_ , aahh. I’m. Oh, you’re so good. You’re so _good_. Kuro- _sama_ , you’re so good to me. Don’t stop. Please _don’t stop_. I love you. _I love you_.”

Kurogane shudders, drops his hands to knot handfuls of damp sheet as Fai moans above him; bows his head and rolls his hips into the slick that spills warm across his thighs, grinding down as best he can. It’s not enough, the scrape of cotton, the press of yielding cushioning futon –not when he wants Fai’s touch, not when he wants those hands, that mouth, the hot desperate press of their bodies together– but it’s all he has and he won’t stop, _can’t_ stop, not when he can taste how close Fai is in every lick and swallow. It aches like a fist to the belly but _it doesn’t matter_ , not when Fai needs him like this-

“I love you, I _love_ you, I love you I love you _I love you_ _I love-!!_ ”

Fai screams. It’s bitter, it’s _hot_ , it floods his mouth and spills across his tongue to pour down his throat in pulse after salty pulse and he drinks it down like a man dying of thirst. It’s so good, _fuck_ , and it’s suddenly all too much; just the way those hands claw into his skin, fingers curling hard and desperate and Fai’s hips jolting up in bruising desperation, and Kurogane is _lost_ , head spinning as it all crashes down and his hips stutter and the cloth beneath him is flooded and slick as he shudders into completion, almost choking as his throat tightens and his back tries to arch. Yes. _Yes_.

He doesn’t choke, though it takes him a bit before he can raise his head again, and there are tears leaking from the corner of his eyes when Fai slips slack from his mouth to clear his lips at last. Kurogane coughs, throat rasping and sore, and licks up the last flecks of bitter salt that spatter the back of his shaking hand; Fai’s hands, strong and scarred and perfect, curl gently around his shoulder to ease him into a roll, and he goes over without a fight, collapsing onto his back. “I love you,” says Fai again, says it for them both, and his voice is half-ruined, half-laughing. “You spilled before I could even touch you. Kuro-sama, that’s not very fair.”

“Couldn’t help it,” croaks Kurogane. It sounds hoarse and broken, and he needs water before he sleeps or he won’t be able to speak in the morning. “You’re so good.”

Fai sighs, a soft and happy sound, and his breath does not fog; the air doesn’t feel so crisp or cold, anymore, this tiny space they own warm from the heat they make together. They’re both so wet, though, streaked and glistening with sweat and sex, and the futon is too damp to sleep on. Kurogane’s thighs are trembling and his neck is sore, and Fai’s hand is still so gentle when it smooths down his face and across his throat, a loving weight on Kurogane’s chest. “Rest now,” he says, smiling, and his eyes are sleepy and soft. “I’ll clean us up. And _you_ are so lucky we have another futon folded up spare, or I’d make you sleep where it’s wet.”

And Kurogane is lucky, _so lucky_ , but not because of only that.

“Mm. Don’t be long,” he rasps.

“Rest,” says Fai again, and bends down to kiss him. His lips as warm as his fingers are cool.

**Author's Note:**

> I take prompts at my [tumblr](fieldofclover.tumblr.com/ask). Sometimes I even write them ;3


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